The Master, he watches with eyes of gray,
Where the grave of his dead lover lay,
'Tis longer a king; but a tyrant with hands full of red,
Memories held back by screams and shaking of dread.
Excalibur lay forgotten by the bone,
Both weapon and man now die alone.
Flashes of pale in the lake of the absent dawn,
Hands reaching for the surface, the soul is not yet gone.
Another tear slips down a trembling chin,
Knights turned to mere men.
Dragon's howl in the dark of the night,
No more Albion- just the endless flight.
Master's words are cold and hard,
On this heart he shan't get far.
The Fey weep with him on the August moon's rise,
Even they feel his death still, and together they cry.
Trees burned to ashes now lay where the forest stood,
No more breath, no more life, no more wood.
Where'd He go?
Lost to the Future; the Fate; the immortal glow.
Magic now is lost to the cry of the wolf,
Who alone in the forest blankly lopes,
Where'd my King go?
Why couldn't the Death Bringer's hand lay low?
The kingdom once used to be grand and great,
And bring forth, on icy waves, the greatest fate?
Merlin lay burned and broken six feet deep,
Where in peace, oh, he shall sleep.
The blue in the sky forever missed,
The red rosy shade where embarrassment kissed.
King Arthur lay 'pon his bed,
Wishing, he too, was amongst the dead.
A/N: This poem was from the idea that Merlin had died in battle, and this was Arthur's downfall afterward. If you like it, please say so in the comments, I love to write poetry and would be happy to write more.
